


Coffee and Tea

by thehomosexualunit



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Overwatch, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Domestic, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Genyatta - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, McCree still works for an agency and Hanzo is still part of the clan, McHanzo - Freeform, Multi, Reaper76 - Freeform, Slow Burn, Slowest Burn, Violence, Witness Protection Program AU, ZaraMei, or something along those lines..., other then that everything is different, pharamercy, sad old rough boys who need love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 03:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12666900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehomosexualunit/pseuds/thehomosexualunit
Summary: After Hanzo's life is seriously threatened, the Shimada clan sends him off to a far away land of endless summer, buildings that only reach three stories, and. . .a cowboy.Or the Forced to Live Together Domestically AU because there is little written about this and I have an itch.





	1. Caramel Macchiato, Extra Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time posting on this site so let me know what you think in the comments. I won't beg for likes and comments, but just know it's my life force. Updates will happen, but there isn't a set schedule yet. When there is, I'll let you know. Anyway have at it and enjoy.

Hanzo disliked mud.

Mud was the opposite of clean, in his mind. It associated with childhood and thoughtlessness. It stained and caked and left no survivors for anyone in it’s path. After a heavy rain, Hanzo made sure not to step into the garden to avoid any blights on his clothes or shoes. Heaven forbid Hanzo ever found the person who tracked in muddy footprints in the estate, though he could infer who. Mercy was never given to anyone who allowed mud into their life period. 

It’s easy to imagine how absolutely _revolted_ Hanzo became when the first thing he stepped in outside of the cab was the soft goo itself. He stared down at the ground- hard. His eyes were fully opened despite the sun shining down without restraint. As if his gaze could burn it off and away. His dark leather shoe was slicked with mud on it’s sides as it tried to consume the rest of his shoe. Undoubtedly it would try and consume the rest of him if he wasn’t fast enough. 

Quickly, Hanzo managed to escape the beast’s clutches, nearly slipping and losing his balance to fall into the murky depths below. He caught himself on the door just in time, his reflexes working faster than his thought process. At least he hadn’t lost that part of himself. What would Genji say? 

_Ninja like reflexes!_ he could hear accompanied with a smirk.  
_Get out of my head,_ he replied.

Once the suitcases were set away from the disgusting mass, he nodded his head toward the tip-seeking cab driver. The portly man rolled his eyes and sped away, leaving a fleck of mud on his tailored jacket. Hanzo counted to twenty as he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and began to do away with the smudge, in turn only making it worse. Of course it was worse. Everything was worse. None of this was supposed to happen. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to remain himself; proud and noble. He wouldn’t let Blairstown, Alabama change him. _He was above this._

The house Hanzo approached was at the end of a lengthy dirt road. It stood stolid like the trees beside him. They fell in line, one by one along the path as if greeting their general. Fruit looked ready to bloom from their branches. A gentle pang rang in his chest. Hanzo vaguely wondered if he would ever see a cherry blossom tree bloom again. If he survived this week of Hell, he could have a chance of making it to next spring. With the season being nearly a year away, the chances were more or less unlikely. 

_A red door, how tacky,_ he observed, approaching the porch and dragging his suitcase up the three small steps. The porch greeted him with groans and squeaks, not afraid to show it’s age. Dust covered just about everything on this house so far and Hanzo briefly considered turning around and taking his chances against the world. But before he could make that decision, a small, but polite _ahem_ could be heard from behind. 

Hanzo stood rigid as he slowly turned his head, checking out the stranger with his peripheral vision. This house was isolated atop a hill from the rest of the town at the bottom. Who could this possibly be other than an assailant after his head? What he could surmise from the brief glance he took was: a young woman, 17-23 years old, around 5’4” in height, barely scratching 130 lbs, swimmer? No- _runner._

Hanzo turned around fully and eyed her up and down. Discretion was not used and did not go unnoticed by the newcomer. The woman smiled as her gravity defying hair blew back some with a gentle breeze. It reminded Hanzo of long grass. She was alight with curiosity and a smile much, much too wide. 

As the woman took off her orange aviators, she stared at the suit he had donned and hummed in thought until finally asking, “Are you an attorney?” 

Hanzo blinked once at her accent, then twice at the question. He gripped his suitcase in hand tighter, the knowledge of its contents giving him comfort. He didn’t answer- instead just continued to stand defensively. The woman cocked her head slightly to the side and continued, Or are you a lawyer? A doctor? Oh! Are you one of those fellas who sells nifty things? Like as seen on TV junk? Always wanted to run into one of you guys- I thought about joining the telemarketing game for a long time, but my friend Ange says I talk too fast for something like that. Still, going door to door must be exciting! You get to meet new people and talk to them all day. Close to being a mailman I suppose. I thought by being a mailman, I would see people like you more often. But I suppose it’s a dyin’ breed. Lost art, y’know? Ah well! Maybe you’ll be the one to bring it back!”

“...what?”

Instead of answering, the woman removed three letters and a magazine from her blue satchel and placed it in the mail slot of the door behind Hanzo. She returned back to her spot and popped the gum she had been chewing away at with gusto. “Telemarketing!” She exclaimed, as if it was the easiest assumption to make about an odd stranger, obviously from far away standing on the outside of a could-be haunted house. 

Hanzo sighed. 

“I am merely staying here for a short while and I am not selling anything. I am merely a guest.” He told the woman in a controlled, tight voice. It was a skill he had learned when training to be the next yakuza. How to display as little emotion as possible. This had always been a difficulty for Hanzo. If he disliked a certain person, they would know. Needless to say it flew over the mailman’s head. 

“Ohhh! Oh I see. You’re a ‘guest’ at McCree’s house. I’ve got it. No worries, love! I’m just the post, don’t mind me!” Her voice carried off as she turned and made her way back to the ground. As she broke out into a jog, looking as if it was no effort at all, Hanzo finally realized what she meant. 

“I am _not_ an escort!” He called out after her, but didn’t think she heard. His posture slumped for a moment before it returned back to rigid and sturdy. He couldn’t get small instances like that get to him. She was just a postwoman after all, why should he care? It was a bit unnerving to think she surmised he was about to be used for pleasure…

Hanzo returned back to the door and didn’t hesitate to knock. Surely the owner heard the insufferable sound of the squeaking mail slot. The thing sounded as if it were on it’s last hinges. But no answer came. Instantly, the young prince grew impatient. “Jesse McCree!” He called, making three more knocks on the old wood. 

No answer.

He cursed and moved away from the door, counting to thirty this time. As he pinched the bridge of his nose he thought of the reasons as to why he might not be answering. Perhaps he was already dead? The people who had sent Hanzo the death threats might have gotten to him already and murdered him, making this a trap. Or maybe this was some horrible ruse set up by his father. Some sort of prank or lesson to be learned. He wouldn’t put it past his father to send him to America of all places just to learn some humility. 

Maybe he needed it. 

Hanzo shook the thought away and in the same instance watched a red pickup truck roll down the pathway he has just walked down. The thing was a beast, a monster he was not familiar with. When he and Genji were children, their father and uncles would scare them with stories of ronin and creatures lurking in the mountains looming over them always in the distance. They were sly and cunning, luring their prey with false promises and trickery. 

This truck was loud. It’s engine roared and engulfed the surrounding area with rumbling thunder. It’s history could be read just by looking at it. Every dent and chip of paint showed it’s age. Hanzo wondered if his bodyguard would match the way he lives; old and tired and looking about ready to drop dead. This was good. If this was the case, he could run away much easier. 

Jesse McCree was not the case. 

The truck pulled up beside the path and when the engine was cut the silence was almost as deafening as the roar. It was maddening. As the door creaked open, out stepped one leather brown boot. Then another, accompanied by denim jeans looking worn. Then the rest of the man came out. It took everything in Hanzo’s power not to gape. 

A stetson hat. Unkempt beard. _Flannel_. Crow’s feet. Broad shoulders. Muscle. Large hands. _Dirty_ hands. Belt buckle. Cigarette. Suspenders. A _smile._

Why the fuck was this man dressed like a cowboy?

“Need somethin’, stranger?” The cowboy asked. 

God, his voice. The twang.

“You are Jesse McCree, I presume?” He managed to say back.

“Certainly depends on who’s askin’, donnit?”

Hanzo tried not to look too completely baffled. “I am Hanzo Shimada, heir to the Shimada clan. And you are my assigned protector.” 

The man’s bushy eyebrows raised and he plucked the cigarette from his mouth to blow out a puff of smoke. Hanzo’s hand twitched. The cowboy’s posture changed to him leaning back on a leg, a hand on his belt buckle, and his shoulders eased. “Well I be damned. You’re early, Mr. Shimada. Wasn’t expectin’ you ‘till at least oh…” McCree glanced up at the sun with squinted eyes before finishing, “Five o’clock.”

“It is five o’clock.” Hanzo retorted, his voice even tighter now. 

“...huh. Well now. Guess I need a better watch then. You mind tellin’ me what day it is too?” 

“Are you seriously meant to be my protector?” He suddenly asked, the question eating him alive. He didn’t want to believe this was true. Jesse raised an eyebrow and approached the porch. Dear lord there were spurs on his boots.

“Sure am! Jesse McCree, body guard extraordinaire. At your service, darlin’.” He introduced finally, reaching for Hanzo’s hand to shake. The cowboy managed to snag his hand, lifting it up to firmly hold. Once let go, Hanzo looked down at his hand.

It was covered in dirt.


	2. English Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse contemplates and Hanzo breaks a rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments so far! This idea is really buzzing in my head, so I'm just gonna churn out chapters until I'm done for the moment. Then I'll let y'all know what the schedule will be like. Enjoy.

“You seem stressed, Jesse. One on the house-”

“Oh I couldn’t do that, Miss Amari. Gotta get home and take of some things.”

“Ah yes. That man staying with you. He’s rather quiet for you, isn’t he?”

Jesse slowly raised his eyes from the freshly polished off bar and gave the old bartender a once over. She didn’t back down, merely staring back at him with a knowing look through her good eye. The other was covered up by a black patch today, her ‘professional patch’. Jesse had seen the others; the white patch for formal events, the floral patch for parties or the occasional town wide festival. 

After tipping the rest of his beer back and pretending to relish the taste he had become so accommodated to, Jesse kept the bottle in hand and fished out a ten in exchange. “Yeah...mind not lettin’ folks ‘round here know ‘bout him? Don’t want any strangers makin’ him feel uncomfortable or anythin’...”

Ana let out a gentle laugh, a sound that reminded Jesse of crackling fire. “What is he to you, Jesse McCree? I haven’t seen you run around this town since you arrived. It’s been less than a week and he has you fit to be his dog.”

The blunt and honest truth was what Ana Amari dealt out and Jesse was grateful. It had been more than a couple times she had set him straight. Ever since he met her she always seemed right, even when she was wrong. 

“He’s just a business partner stayin’ for a few days. By Sunday he’ll be outta here and things can go back to the way it was. How’s the big guy?” A change of subject always followed after a talk about the mysterious man who arrived on Monday. Strangers who arrived were always the big topic of conversation amongst generally everyone. He could still remember the day he arrived; gloriously naked as the day he was born and wasted two ways to Sunday. It was a memorable day for Blairstown, Jesse wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up in a book someplace. 

“Reinhardt injured his hip trying to push a car into the junkyard.” She replied simply, thought after years of getting to know the refined lady, Jesse could sense the clipped tone. She wasn’t all too happy her significant other kept pushing himself, especially due to the fact that his 62nd birthday was quickly approaching. The man was a giant and a God damn town wide treasure. “Whatever the case may be with your guest- here. The tea you asked for and a six pack, on the house.”

Jesse watched as the two items were placed on the counter and he gave a wry smile, his hand running through his hair to push it back. He knew better than to say no. He consolidated the tea and the empty bottle still in hand into a plastic bag and held the six pack by the handle, moving to stand. The bartender walked around, Jesse’s hat being cradled in a way which didn’t taint the shape until it was set upon his head. After a small slap upon his cheek, Ana nodded and said, “I will see you tomorrow. I’ll tell Rein you said hello.” Back behind the counter she went and towards the door Jesse headed. 

“Thank ya kindly.”

As he opened it with the push of his foot, the bells above chimed in their three note song. A wave of heat washed over his face and he took a deep breath of dry air. Summer was really here. Before fully leaving, Ana managed to get the last word in, “Be safe, cowboy.”

The door shut and he was left on the outside with the blazing sun and not a cloud in the sky. 

“How the hell she manage to do that…” He mumbled to himself, making his way towards Maria. She sat there dutifully for him in her dulled red glory. As he placed the bag in beer in the passenger side and shut the door, he couldn’t help but think of Ana Amari and the way she always seemed to know. She always knew what was going on in his life, sometimes when he didn’t even know what was happening. Jesse’s profession was an unconventional one for a man his age. Being a bodyguard wasn’t exactly a job just anyone could take. It paid well, there usually wasn’t much effort, and he could work from home. Plus it meant company without the obligation of revisiting or the ultimate alternative, staying. He had been in this game for a long time and he was damn good at acting like everything was peachy keen. And yet she had seen right through him. Sometimes Jesse couldn’t help but think the bartender at Oasis had a few more secrets than people knew. After all, people don’t just lose their eyes over nothing. 

She fucked with him and Jesse liked being kept on his toes. 

Driving back up to the house his mind wandered in a fog over the signs and trees and people walking around trying to get out of the heat. It wandered towards silk robes and long black hair he wasn’t supposed to see let down from it’s tie. Hanzo Shimada certainly was one of the oddest cases he had ever taken on. Up front, they paid him over half a million to keep him there in his home for a week, alive. Graciously, he had accepted. 

Now he wasn’t so sure if that had been a good idea. 

When Hanzo first arrived, Jesse gave him a tour of the place and some rules to follow. Try not to go outside, try not to listen to the radio past eleven (there wasn’t anything good on anyway after that), things like that. As soon as Jesse was finished, Hanzo bowed and headed straight up to the guest bedroom. With a slam of the door, that had been the end of interaction for day one. Jesse didn’t usually judge his clients, but this yahoo seemed like a complete asshole. Grade A snob, stick up the ass. 

And of course, Hanzo never made anything easy. 

 

_“What is the meaning of this?”_

_Jesse looked down into the tub in the upstairs bathroom with Hanzo in a silk robe beside him. He looked about as happy as a fly caught in a spider’s web. Glancing down in the tub, Jesse for the life of him could not understand what was wrong. He had his hands on his hips as he looked back at Hanzo and said slowly, “Can’t say I know what you mean, darlin’.”_

_“Do not address me like that.”_

_Right. No names rule._

_“Alright. What’s the problem with the tub?”_

_“It is filthy.”_

_“I...come again?”_

_“How can you possibly take a bath in something like that?”_

_Jesse had to take a moment to look away and glance at himself in the mirror. The hard part about this job was not having the ability to vent._

_“...you wanna take a bath.”_

_“Clearly.”_

_“Now, this may be silly to ask, but why not just take a shower?”_

_“A_ shower _?”_

_Oh boy. He really was in the shit now._

_After another couple of minutes of Jesse trying to compromise and ease the situation, Hanzo finally agreed to take a shower if Jesse cleaned the tub right after. The deal was struck and Jesse was left lighting up a cigarette wondering just what he had done to deserve this._

_...strike that last one._

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Jesse called out as he entered. Hip checking the door closed, he noticed the eerie quiet of the place. Usually Hanzo like to at least turn the radio on or make his presence known by reading a book on the couch. But there was no sign of his temporary housemate. 

_Fuck_ , he thought. 

Jesse set down the bag of tea and beer before rushing around the kitchen area and knocking on the door to the bathroom. Not in the living either. He rushed up the stairs and looked in both bedrooms. He even pulled back the shower curtain to the bath. No hanzo. 

Son of a bitch. Son of a _bitch_. 

_Thwack_. 

Jesse’s head whipped around so fast to the window above the bath, he probably got whiplash. He climbed inside, not caring if his shoes were dirtying it again. He looked out the screen and there in the backyard, Hanzo Shimada in all his regal prowess. Air managed to fill his lungs again and his thoughts came back to him slow and one at a time. Hanzo was here. He was safe. He was alive. He wasn’t gonna be killed by some asian mafia by the end of the week. 

Jesse was about to head down and tell the prince to get his ass back inside, when he heard another thwack. This time he could see what the noise was accompanied by.   
The man stood tall and poised, a bow in his left and an arrow notched and held in his right. The gold ribbon keeping his hair tied back glimmered and caught the sun’s light. Surrounding Hanzo was grass and various lawn tools. About fifty feet away was the dead apple tree still remaining in his yard. Jesse had meant to cut it down, put a big blue X on it and everything. And now it was being used as target practice. The moment was still, frozen in time as there was no breeze. It was almost as if the surrounding cicadas and birds were holding their breath for the archer. Allowing him a moment of silence. 

Then arrow flew.


	3. White Chocolate Mocha with Foam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo remembers and Jesse presents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, but important! Hope you enjoy.

_Spring has never looked more beautiful. The petals from the tree have taken to flooding the ground and creating a sea of pink. The stones in the garden peek through the waves like white foam on a tide. It is peace. It is home._

_“Ani! Play with me!”_

_The young voice called for Hanzo. It wanted him to play. He could feel a warmth blooming in his chest as he stared down at the little boy dressed quite ridiculously. Hanzo bent down and slowly took the hand of his brother._

_“Play with me!”_

_The ground changed. It morphed into a sea of red. Where there had been blossoms there now was thick red liquid and it was rising fast. It surpassed Genji’s head and Hanzo let go of his hand, losing him to the suffocating, loud color. And in his head he could hear Genji saying calmly, “Hanzo…”_

_“Hanzo.”_

“Hanzo.”

The voice was too rough, too old to belong to a five year old. It said his name drawled out, the end of it sounding like a large, inflected ‘OH’. It was an ugly way to say his name. 

The arrow flew and he missed. 

Far in the distance it sunk into the ground and became hidden amongst the grass. Hanzo stood up straight, forgoing his refined stance and stared into the distance. He let in a deep breath before speaking in a low, controlled voice, “What.”

The cowboy approached another step closer, a foolish mistake on his part. Hanzo refused to look at the flannel disaster to his left until the smell hit him. “What...is that?” He asked, slowly turning to see the World’s Greatest Dad mug being held by none other than Jesse McCree.

“Tea!”

“What kind?”

“Uh...said on the box I think English Breakfast?”

“It is not breakfast. It is the afternoon. I thought you said you were going to find a better watch.”

“Eh I’m pretty much over it. Watches that is.”

There was a moment of silence. The birds seemed pick up on their songs again. For a second, Hanzo swore he saw a sparrow zip from one tree to the next. That was impossible, no sparrows here.

“Do you want me to drink this?” He asked slowly, trying to piece together why this cow man was still standing here. Did he expect him to drink it? To like it? Hanzo wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

“You ever have it?”

“Have you?”

The question posed a challenge and each of them locked eyes. A chess game, Hanzo suddenly thought. Jesse budged first.

“Never really was a tea drinker. More of a coffee kinda fella myself.”

“Coffee tastes and smells absolutely retched. You make a mistake every single time you drink.” Hanzo retorted back rather quickly, enjoying the absoluteness of his words. Obviously tea was a better option than coffee. It was healthier, it brought healing purposes to the mind. Of course why would an American care for something that actually benefits them?

“Well that ain't surprisin'. Made a lotta mistakes.” 

Jesse walked back into the house after placing the tea cup on the lonesome stump. It was still steaming, gently now though. Hanzo watched the back door slide shut with a click and he set down his bow to lean against the stump. It was acts like these that made him feel the traces of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Little interactions like these left him wondering more and more about the cowboy and his mysterious shitty house atop the hill. 

Hanzo picked up the cup and drank.


End file.
